Eyes and Hearts
by Aleine Skyfire
Summary: Sometimes, living in the 22nd century isn't easy - thank goodness Sherlock Holmes has friends to help him through it. 13: She was scared to let him know her secret.
1. Renascence

**Author's Note:**

So after my first foray into this branch of Sherlockiana ("Requiem for a Friend"), I churned out a list of short stories I wanted to do for SH22 and decided to make them a collection. Now, as they say in _Sound of Music_, "let's begin at the beginning—a very good place to start!" Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock Holmes, Inspector G. Lestrade, and Dr. John Watson were (allegedly) created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and reside within the public domain. The cartoon incarnations and Beth Lestrade belong to their creators. Holmes's back-story is mine.

**==1. ****Renascence==**

Rating: K+  
><span>Summary<span>: Just after his reawakening, Sherlock Holmes deals with the aftermath of resurrection.

Pairing(s): none  
><span>Warnings<span>: well, if you count "what the devil" as _language_…  
><span>Word Count<span>: 325

I sigh at the sight of a deep brown Inverness and deerstalker folded neatly on the room's one table. "Thank you, Sidney Paget," I mutter as I examine the other clothes. Russet-red waistcoat, mustard-yellow shirt, tan trousers, cobalt-blue tie… honestly, was the person responsible for this collection _colour-blind_?

What I wouldn't give right now for my own characteristic black suit, or even my country tweeds. Ah well, one must make do with what one has (however distasteful). I set the clothing down for a moment to study myself in the mirror nearby—my body feels quite young, and my hands, at any rate, look it.

I find myself going slack-jawed in shock for the first time in _two_ lifetimes.

I am blond.

I am _blond_.

And… and _blue_-eyed? What the _devil_…

My features are unchanged—that is, this is recognisably myself from about the time I first met Watson. All aging beyond that of a man in his mid-twenties is lost. _Extraordinary_.

But I am blond-haired and blue-eyed.

How is this possible? Something must have gone wrong in the regeneration process, but… what a way to go wrong! Blond hair and blue eyes in place of my natural, admittedly monochromatic but striking black hair and grey eyes… I could not look more Anglo-Saxon if I tried…

A laugh escapes me, and it borders on hysterical. At last I fit my Christian (and Anglo-Saxon) name, _Sherlock_: fair-haired. My family would not believe this. Watson would not believe this…

_Watson_.

This futuristic, female Inspector Lestrade must not have seen fit to restore John as well… or perhaps could not. I close my eyes against the pain threatening to take hold of my heart and twist it mercilessly.

_Not now_.

There will be a time to mourn later. For now, I have clothes to don, and a New Scotland Yarder to question. Surely I can put aside the grief for just a few hours?

Just a few hours.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Poor Holmes!

Of course, the real Holmes is supposed to be black-haired and grey-eyed, so if this show is to be in any way canonical, something had to happen to his original coloring. For a plausible explanation, I direct you to Jack of All Suits' one-shot "Companionship, Discussion, and Hairbows."

I have to say that I really, really like Holmes's characterization in SH22. He's still sharp, still mildly arrogant and condescending, still witty and sarcastic… and at the same time, has anybody ever noticed that he's gentler, a bit softer? When you think about it, it makes sense: we're talking about a man who lived a full life (to his 70s at least), died, and then was restored to life. While he has the body of his early twenties, I think he has more of the maturity of his later years.

Next up, a sequel: Holmes deals with the fact that John Watson will no longer be in his life. Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	2. Alone and Wide Awake

**Author's Note:**

You may well need tissues. I did.

Btw, the "Helen" mentioned is Helen Lestrade _nee_ Watson, Sherlock Holmes's goddaughter, a creation of yours truly. You can learn more about her in my one-shot "Requiem for a Friend."

**To my reviewers:**

bemj11: Thank you!

Shizuku Tsukishima749: Wow, thank you very muc! =) And good to know it's not just me _thinking_ he's softer. ;D

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, and Professor James Moriarty were (allegedly) created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and reside within the public domain. The cartoon incarnations, Beth Lestrade, and Sir Evan Hargreaves belong to their creators. The non-SH22 flashbacks and Helen Watson are _© Aleine Skyfire 2011._ _All rights reserved._

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><p><strong>==2. Alone and Wide Awake==<strong>

Rating: K+  
><span>Summary<span>: _After the events of FALL, Sherlock Holmes finds himself overwhelmed with the enormity of his situation_.

Pairing(s): Holmes/Watson friendship  
><span>Warnings<span>: tissues may be required

Word Count: 878

Beth Lestrade has graciously allowed me the possession of Watson's journals.

"_Do you miss him?"_

"_More than I care to admit."_

_Far_ more than I care to admit. Even in a second lifetime on this side of eternity, it seems that I retain my tendency to be… how did Helen put it?… tight-lipped. I still abhor the very notion of allowing others to see me emotionally vulnerable.

And then to see that machine—a _compudroid_, Beth Lestrade called it—attempt to take on the voice and personality of John Hamish Watson… It's almost too much. Perhaps I should be grateful that the voice sounds nothing like Watson, the real Watson; perhaps I should be grateful that the "assistant" attitude is played up a bit too far, like the plays and films based off of Watson and Doyle's collaborations…

I shouldn't be resentful, I know that. At any rate, it would be the height of absurdity to resent a machine. But if that… _thing_… thinks that it can take the place of my dearest friend, well… it is about to find out how wrong it is. Perhaps someday I can accept it as a "friend" in its own right—it _does_ have a remarkable ability to demonstrate humanity—and perhaps I shall one day be able to call it "Watson."

But not just yet.

John and I are parted by death yet again, but, ironically, it is through a rebirth of my own in which I had no say. It is… I want to say "unfair," but the truth is that this new Scotland Yard will need me if this master criminal turns out to be like Professor James Moriarty. Not unfair, then, but more than a bit irritating and… disturbing. No man should have the power to recall another man from beyond the grave.

No, wait.

Lestrade and Hargreaves himself may think that his scientific prowess has restored me to life, but the fact is that science can only reanimate the body, restore a heartbeat. No amount of scientific procedure can return the spirit to the body. Had only mortal means been involved, they would have found that they had only an empty, soulless shell left to them.

Once you have eliminated the possible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Therefore, I must treat my resurrection as an act of my Creator. Like the mythical King Arthur, I must return to an England that needs me.

But, oh, dear God, it is almost more than I can bear!

Following Watson's death, I lived for just a few months longer, passing away three months shy of my eightieth birthday. My heart—I had been having cardiac troubles—simply ceased to beat in my sleep. That Christmas was a truly difficult one for the Watson family.

I do not like to think back on those bleak, empty months between mine and Watson's deaths, but I find myself doing so now. I was more than willing to answer the summons to come Home… I missed my Watson so terribly, knew that he was the stronger man for enduring nearly three years of believing me dead from 1891 to 1894. I could never have done the same.

"_Ready to take on another case, Holmes?"_

My dear Watson, you have no idea how ready I was.

"_Holmes?"_

"_Good Lord, Watson, what in blazes are you doing out when you're ill?"_

Dear God, no! Don't let me relive this, _please_…

"_I wanted to see you."_

"_My dear fellow, don't you think you had better wait until you… No…"_

"_Eileen let me come. The children have… said their goodbyes. They understand."_

The memory can be such a cruel thing. In retrospect, I do not envy Mycroft his eidetic memory—such a crystal-clear recollection of my entire life might have destroyed me.

"_C-come upstairs? Can you?"_

"_Yes, I think so…"_

"_Let me help."_

I wish that this, my last mortal memory of my best friend, were not so mercilessly clear.

"_Watson… why…"_

"_Because I wanted to be home. And I wanted to be with you. …I'm sorry… this is hurting too much, isn't it? I should have thought of that…"_

"_No! No, Watson, don't you dare apologise! I would have it no other way!"_

"_I know…"_

I've fallen back upon my bed without realising it, here in this cheerful guest bedroom on the estate of Sir Evan Hargreaves. Too cheerful. I'm… I am quite literally _falling apart_, and the bright, playful décor of the room merely mocks me.

"Lieder_. Shall I play _Lieder_ for you?"_

"…_no."_

"_No?"_

"_What was… that pretty little thing… you played that night… our first night back here? In '94?"_

"_I never named it."_

"_Play that… would you?"_

"_Of course, my dear fellow."_

Ironic that he died on the fourth of May, the forty-sixth anniversary of Reichenbach. Sooner or later, I have always found my life—_lives_, now—coming full circle.

I saw him smile slowly, saw his eyes shine. Saw his lips silently form my name. I knelt beside him, my brain already knowing and my heart unwilling to accept that… there would be no pulse. Those glassy hazel eyes stared straight through me, and… oh, God…

Oh, dear God in Heaven, I can't do this. I… I… c-caaan't…

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

*bows head* I think you get the picture that he was beginning to cry. Poor Sherlock… Honestly, though, I just can't see him handling this issue any other way. (And, yes, I did cry over writing this.)

Btw, in my personal canon, both Watson and Holmes died in 1937, at the ages of 83 and 79 respectively.

Holmes's memories came from a story of mine, "81. Whisper," found _only_ in my Kindle ebook, _At the Mercy of the Mind: A Journey into the Depths of Sherlock Holmes_. You can link to the American Amazon page for the book from my profile—the book can also be found on the UK and German versions of Amazon.

Next Monday, we have something not quite so angsty: Lestrade's first impressions of the Great Detective. Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	3. Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

Thanks to everyone who's favorited or subscribed!

If you don't like H/L, you ought to be okay with this installment. On the other hand, shippers won't be deterred—I know how that goes. ^_^ It's open. 'S all good. =)

**To my reviewers:**

Elerrina Star: Yeeeah, you of all people should know since you've read AMM, right? =) Aww, sorry about that, hon. …Well, you know, the flashbacks of Watson's death _were_ meant to be heartrending. That's the thing that gets me about this show: Holmes has a Watson, but he doesn't have the _real_ Watson with whom he had over half a century of close friendship. I like compudroid!Watson, but it just hurts me like I can't really say that _John_ Watson _isn't there_. On your lighter note, thank you so very much! I agree, there _isn't_ enough good fic. Must remedy this. ^_^

Shizuku Tsukishima749: Oh wow, thank you very much! *blushes* Actually, I'll tell you the biggest secret of Amazon's Kindle—and it's crazy, 'cause nobody seems to know this. Amazon will let you download PC Kindle software for free! I have that program, and it works kind of like Acrobat Reader. In fact, if you click on my book's page from my profile, you'll see on the right side that Amazon advertises several different Kindle programs that you can download, one of which is the PC software. If you really want to read AMM that badly, please go check out that software! =D

zara2148: I've still only seen a few episodes of the show, but I agree: they did a great job with characterization. So awesome. And yeah, as far as his hair goes, I just ignore and pretend, too. (For the record, I love rants in reviews—always fun.) =) And, aw, sorry for trumping you! *sheepish smile* Thank you very much!

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, and Inspector G. Lestrade are in the public domain; the cartoon incarnations, Beth Lestrade, compudroid!Watson, and Sir Evan Hargreaves belong to their creators. Basil Rathbone, Jeremy Brett, Benedict Cumberbatch, and Vasily Linanov belong to themselves. The films mentioned all belong to their creators (don't make me list them, please). Mary Russell belongs to Laurie R. King.

* * *

><p><strong>==3. Unexpected==<strong>

Rating: K+  
><span>Summary<span>: _Lestrade posts online her account of her first meeting with the Great Detective._

Pairing(s): Holmes/Lestrade if you squint  
><span>Warnings<span>: none

Word Count: 810

He's not what I expected.

I don't mean that in a negative or a positive way—it's just a fact. He's really not what I expected.

Being part of the Lestrade family, I grew up with a big appreciation for Sherlock Holmes. Yep, I was as big a fangirl as any of you kids (or adults) reading this. Now, I grant you, I was more a _Watson_ fangirl than a _Holmes_ fangirl (why do you think I named my compudroid Watson?), but still. I grew up watching the classics: Basil Rathbone, Jeremy Brett, Benedict Cumberbatch. _The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes_, _Murder by Decree_, _Young Sherlock Holmes_, and _The Great Mouse Detective_ also made it in there. Zed, I even watched Vasily Linanov.

But like a lot of Sherlockians before me, it was Jeremy Brett who embodied Sherlock Holmes for me. Even though I was a Watson fangirl, I had a brief fan-crush on Jeremy!Holmes when I was a teenager. The eyes, the smile, the voice… oh yeah, I had it bad.

Anyway, the first time I saw that honey-filled coffin, I couldn't really make out the real Sherlock's features all that well. All that I could tell was that he looked _old_. And when he was in that cellular rejuvenation tank, the oxygen mask covered a good bit of his face—not enough to tell what he really looked like. All I knew was that he was incredible, and I said as much. I was about to live out every Sherlockian's fondest dream: meeting the Great Detective himself.

But then he was on that medical table or whatever you call it, and my first reaction was, _No way Sherlock Holmes is _blond_. Watson said his hair was dark. Sherlock can't be blond!_ _Oh, zed, _please_ tell me that we have the right guy here._

Then I was worried, because he'd been out of the tank for a while now, and he still hadn't woken up. So I called him by his first name—up until then, I'd tended to go back and forth between calling him "Sherlock" and calling him "Holmes."

His eyes opened, and I got the next big shock of my life: his eyes were this beautiful but totally non-canonical _sapphire_ _blue_. He was supposed to have _grey_ eyes.

The features were aquiline, very young (I realized that his biological age could be no older than mine), and really handsome. But… he wasn't Jeremy Brett.

It was illogical and stupid, that fangirl hope of mine. But I could almost have cried when I saw that the real Holmes looked very little like my childhood image of the man. The voice, too, was nowhere close to Jeremy's.

But he bolted upright and said, "Sherlock Holmes, at your service!" Must have been an instinctive reaction to his name being called… or something.

So I swallowed my disappointment and smiled brightly—maybe a bit over-brightly. "Welcome to the 22nd century, Holmes!"

I think he knew, somehow. He's Sherlock zedding Holmes, after all. We've never talked about it, but I think he knew.

And then I started getting to know him as I explained the whole mess to him, pulled him into my investigation. That was after he said, "You brought me back for more than just my good looks and sparkling wit." Pfft, narcissistic much, yes? But…

I didn't mind.

Okay, so the man doesn't sound like Jeremy Brett, and the coloring is wrong. (Sir Evan explained that bit to me: the man's natural coloring _will_ come back—it'll just take some time due to the still-experimental nature of the rejuvenation process.) But he actually has a great voice (when he's not being sarcastic and/or arrogant, at any rate), and he has this smile that just lights up the room. Really, it does.

Oh, zed, I know what you're thinking. You think I've fallen for the guy, don't you? Fine, then, let's get one thing straight.

_I haven't_.

Just _you_ work with him day in and day out and see if _you_ fall for him. Mary Russell (who, as it turns out, is very much fictional) may have been able to do it, but _I_ can't. The man drives me nuts. I like him a lot, but, _honestly_, it's probably not good for a romantic relationship if you're wanting to strangle your boyfriend for every other sentence he speaks.

So that's that. Now you rabid fangirls know what my first meeting with Sherlock Holmes was like… kinda. And, Holmes, if you ever read this, don't take it personal, okay? You drive me up the wall, sure, but, on the other hand, I wouldn't have you any other way. And, like my ancestor before me, I'm proud of you, and I'm honored to call you a friend. My best friend, really.

_Inspector Elizabeth M. Lestrade, C.I.D., New Scotland Yard, August 2103_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Can you just imagine having a clear image in your head of how Sherlock Holmes looks—perhaps a favorite actor from the many adaptations—and then you meet the man, and he's very different from how you've always imagined him? Ah, heartbreak! But I think Lestrade did pretty well, all things considered.

…Ahem, yes, yours truly is a Jeremy!Holmes fangirl. Very much so. As well as a Benny!Holmes fangirl, although to a lesser degree.

_The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes_ stars Robert Stephens as Holmes, Colin Blakely as Watson, and Christopher Lee as Mycroft Holmes. Although I've never seen more than a few minutes of the film, I know it's one of the Sherlockian movies that's worth seeing—Stephens appears to be an underrated Holmes. _Murder by Decree_ is a Canadian film that's not even available on VHS or DVD—it can only be watched online! Starring Christopher Plummer (Captain Von Trapp, _Sound of Music_) as Holmes and James Mason (Captain Nemo, _2,000 Leagues Under the Sea_) as Watson—it's a Holmes vs. the Ripper story, with a literally royal twist. _Young Sherlock Holmes_ is a Chris Columbus film starring Nicholas Rowe and Alan Cox as teenage Holmes and Watson. Finally, _The Great Mouse Detective_ is a Disney cartoon based on a series of books (_Basil of Baker Street_), which in turn is based on the Canon. Holmes and Watson cameo in the film, with a radio track Basil Rathbone's voice used for Holmes's lines.

…Whew, that was a mouthful!

Next Wednesday, Lestrade kids to Holmes about how their strange little group is like a family. (Moriarty will make his first appearance in-person on Friday.) Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	4. Ohana

**Author's Note:**

*yawn* I should have had more coffee this morning…

**To my reviewers:**

ElerrinaStar: Yeah, that would be a shock. Glad that you liked all the different Holmeses! …And I've only ever seen one clip from the RDJ movie—I'm sorry, but he doesn't deserve even to be mentioned in the same breath as Rathbone, Brett, & Cumberbatch. Those are the three all-time greats! Tee-hee, I didn't even like GMD when I was little 'cause it scared me, and now I love it! Thank you!

zara2148: Very glad you thought Lestrade IC—I was a bit worried about her characterization as I'm much less familiar with her than I am with Holmes. *high-fives back* Yes, hurray for Jeremy! …Mm, denial is _possible_, I suppose… Holmes just needs someone very badly to be in that position for him… *shrugs* Dunno. I have to do some serious thinking before I'm willing to venture a definite opinion. ^_^ …I've seen one fic in which the real Watson was also bodily resurrected (partly with cloning technology), and, I must admit, the idea has its appeal. *sheepish smile*

bemj11: *big grin* Thanks! Amazon downloading is one option…

Shizuku Tsukishima749: Thank you very much! Glad you liked Lestrade, Jeremy!Holmes, and the "strangulation" bit! xD Yay, I hope you do get the book! =)

**Disclaimer:** Nothin' I ain't said afore, y'all.

**==4. Ohana==**

Rating: K+

Summary: Lestrade kids to Holmes about how their odd little group is like a family—even Moriarty!

Pairing(s): H/L if you squint

Warnings: none

Word Count: 211

"Y'know, what with you, me, Watson, and the Irregulars, I feel sometimes like we're like a family. Kind of a _weird_ one, but still a family."

Holmes glanced dryly at Lestrade. "You don't say."

She gave him an irritated look before returning her attention—just in time—to the helm of her cruiser. "Seriously, though. I mean, it's like me and you are the mom and dad, and the Irregulars are the kids."

"Where does that leave Watson?"

"Eh, he can be the uncle."

"Ah-haaa, I see. It does occur to you that neither of us are old enough to have _teenage_ children?"

"Well, I'm not, anyway," Lestrade smirked.

Holmes shot her a dirty look. "_Thank_ you, my dear."

"No problem, sweetheart," she said cheerily, ignoring the death-glare she was now receiving. "Huh, should we throw Moriarty into the mix? I mean, seeing as how he's so closely connected to us and all."

Holmes snorted. "And how, pray, could we do _that_?"

"Umm, hmm." Lestrade drummed her fingers against the helm as she considered. "Oh, I know! He can be the black sheep of the family!"

Holmes barked a brief laugh in spite of himself. "Lestrade, you are truly incorrigible."

She flashed him a saccharine-sweet smile. "I learned from the best."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Short but cute. At least, I hope. =D Needed a break from the more serious stuff—which we'll get back to on Friday with Moriarty. It'll be a little surreal, I'll warn you now…

And hey, they all _are_ family, and the "mom and dad" analogy isn't all bad, either. Consider: Lestrade doesn't want the kids getting into potentially dangerous stuff any more than any mom would, and Holmes… weeell, ahem. ^_^

_**Please review!**_


	5. A Gentleman Out of His Time

**Author's Note:**

Sorry about the wait. Not the greatest week. Anyhow, enjoy! (And if anyone else would be so kind as to review number 5? C'mon, it can't have been _that_ terrible! ;D)

**To my reviewer:**

Shizuku Tsukishima749: Heh-heh, thank you, darling, although I think you got a leetle bit confused… *sheepish smile* (Biggest thing: you called Moriarty "Wiggins"…) What was going on with Holmes and Watson's chair, well: it was the _original_ Watson's chair that Moriarty was sitting in. I'd imagine Holmes would have an emotional difficulty in seeing _anyone_, Moriarty _especially_, in that chair.

**==5. A Gentleman Out of His Time==**

Rating: T

Summary: _Lestrade reflects on Holmes's chivalry. She likes it_.

Pairing(s): possibly very slight H/L

Warnings: none

Word Count: 384

He pulled out the chair for me again. We were at a restaurant for lunch today, and he pulled the chair out for me again. Never mind that no other man on the planet pulls out chairs for women these days—Sherlock Holmes is Victorian, born and bred, and he couldn't stop being a gentleman if his life depended on it. I don't think it would ever occur to him _not_ to act that way.

He holds the door open for me, too, when we come across old-fashioned doors with knobs or handles.

It's nice, in a weird kind of way. Like I said, nobody does that, anymore; nobody, that is, except for the Great Detective. But for all his professed dislike of women in the Canon (according to the original Dr. Watson, at any rate), he treats women with courtesy and respect. His attitude towards me is a bit different—we work together, after all—but he still pulls out chairs and opens doors.

It makes me feel special, even though he does it for other women, too. Victorian women couldn't do a fraction of the things women are allowed to do today, but, when I see Holmes being a gentleman, I can't help but think that maybe we females lost something with equal treatment, that there was a tradeoff. That we stepped down from our pedestal, of our own freewill, and now we can't get back up onto it.

Not unless someone like Holmes helps us back up.

I watch him when he sees something that's purely modern, very much beyond his time. He hates the modern state of, well, _undress_, and he very much disapproves of the way other men treat women like equals or like inferiors. Let me clarify that: he doesn't hold for women being treated _equal_ to men—he holds that women should be treated _above_ equal. Not that we should be treated like goddesses or anything, waited on hand and foot, but that we should be handled with gentleness and respect.

Yes, he really is like a knight in shining armor. Seriously now.

For all his sarcasm and arrogance, he can really be sweet, sometimes. I've seen him make street girls feel like ladies. He makes _me_ feel like a lady, every now and then.

It's nice.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

My thoughts exactly, Beth. =) Btw, if you think I'm going overboard with chivalrous!Holmes, I swear I'm not. Just take a look at how he treats female clients, and compare that to how he treats male clients. Watson may be more attracted to the fairer sex, but I'm afraid Holmes has his own moments and that Watson is _not_ the _only_ chivalrous man in the partnership. Thanks go to Steven Doyle in his _Sherlock Holmes for Dummies_ (fantastic book—go buy it! very much worth the money!) for drawing my attention to these interesting tidbits.

Next Monday, another Lestrade piece—this time, about Moriarty, _Star Trek_, Holmes, and sci-fi. Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	6. Your Enemies Closer

**Author's Note:**

A bit nervous about this one—Holmes, I have no problems with, but Moriarty is another matter. The original Professor is one of my favorite characters to mess with, but _this_ Moriarty is a little different, isn't he? Well, hope it works.

**EDIT:** OH MY WORD, I HAD NO IDEA I POSTED UP TOTALLY THE WRONG THING! I AM SO VERY SORRY! *blushes furiously* To make a long story short, I'd accidentally uploaded chapter 5 of a totally different story to this collection as the fifth update! I've just deleted that upload and changed number 6 to number 5... and here you go, the originally-intended number 5. My sincerest apologies, ladies and gentlemen.

**To my reviewers:**

zara2148: Perhaps "surreal" wasn't the right word. *winces* Well, you can judge for yourself. Thank you! I like the back-and-forth that they have in the show—very adorable. ^_^

Shizuku Tsukishima749: Heh, thank you! =D I had fun with just that little bit of dialogue. Ooo, I hope you can talk your mom into it! Really, I do! There's more to selling one's book than making money—there's also the joy of sharing the story with others and seeing them enjoy it. =)

**Disclaimer:** Characters and situations are either in the public domain or property of DiC. Moriarty's memory of November 1890 is _© Aleine Skyfire 2011._ _All rights reserved._

**==6. Your Enemies Closer==**

Rating: T

Summary: _Moriarty comes upon a depressed Great Detective and decides to help Holmes out a bit_.

Pairing(s): none

Warnings: depression, discussion of bipolar disorder

Word Count: 1,153

"So being home alone for the night was not a ploy to catch me? My dear Holmes, I am disappointed."

He was further disappointed when he stepped into the sitting-room and found his archenemy slumped in his armchair before the fire, brooding. Sherlock Holmes's blue eyes (was there a hint of grey in them?) stared unseeingly into the dancing flames. Were it not for the telltale rise and fall of the man's chest, Moriarty would have checked for a pulse.

So. The man was in one of his "black moods," then. Moriarty remained in the doorway and folded his arms. "Holmes."

"Go away." Emotionless tone. No movement otherwise, not even of the eyes.

Moriarty leaned on the doorjamb and cocked one challenging eyebrow. "You'll have to make me."

The blue eyes flicked towards him momentarily (ah, a definite grey tint—his color must be returning). It was the only response he received.

He frowned. The detective's behavior was beyond childish and unreasonable—what the devil was wrong with the man? "Very well, then. I don't suppose there's any tea or coffee to be had?"

At last, Holmes sighed. "Moriarty. Please. Leave and allow me to wallow in my misery, or must I demonstrate yet _again_ that I am the superior fighter?"

Moriarty chose to ignore the "superior" cut in favor of saying, "I don't think you'd do it. Not now. Not when you're like… _this_."

The blue-grey eyes narrowed. "Really."

"Really." In another lifetime—literally—James Moriarty would never have resolved to play the psychiatrist for Sherlock Holmes. Even in this lifetime, he hesitated—the man was his archenemy, after all. On the other hand…

There was nothing else for it. Moriarty would have to play the shrink.

He strode into the room and settled into the armchair opposite the detective, saying, "Now, Hol—"

The younger man startled him by jerking to life and snarling, "Get out of that chair."

Moriarty realized his blunder even as he stood: that armchair was Dr. Watson's. The real John H. Watson's. _Idiot,_ he berated himself. _That chair is sacred ground_. "My apologies, Holmes." He bowed before taking a seat on the settee.

Holmes allowed himself to sink back into his chair and shut his eyes. "What are you doing here?" Interesting—the man made no attempt to conceal his weariness.

"I was looking forward to an enjoyable evening of clashing wits. Instead, I find myself ethically unable to leave my archenemy in the throes of melancholy."

That garnered a short, humorless laugh from the other man. His eyes remained closed. "Even _my_ vivid imagination has difficulty in seeing you with any sort of ethics."

"What intellectual enjoyment is there in defeating a depressed enemy who is not even _trying_ to use his vast intelligence?"

"Touché, and thank you."

Moriarty waited a few moments, drumming his fingers on the settee arm in irritation. Eventually, he said, "So. I do believe this is the first time you've had one of your old black moods since your resurrection."

Holmes sighed again, his eyes still closed. "Yes. Your point is?"

"Oh, really, Holmes, I _do_ keep track of you, you know. You've had no end of cases lately. I've read the good Doctor's stories, all sixty of them—you didn't sink into depression unless you were without cases for a long period. Thus, this instance is unique."

"Not unique," Holmes whispered, his eyes fluttering open. "But I'll thank you to keep out of it."

Moriarty raised an eyebrow. "Not unique, eh?"

"What part of 'keep out' don't you understand? _Honestly_."

Moriarty ignored him. "Then your mood swings could be linked to any number of things," he mused aloud. "Fascinating."

Holmes frowned. "I am not your subject to _study_, Professor," he said coldly.

Moriarty shrugged. "I've nothing else better to do for the moment."

"Oh, for heaven's sake…"

"Have you ever considered that you may be manic depressive?"

"For heaven's sake," Holmes repeated, massaging the bridge of his nose. "_Yes_, I have, actually. I believe I qualify for Bipolar Disorder II, or something of the sort, thank you very much."

"It would fit," Moriarty nodded. "Therefore, you are experiencing a long-overdue depressive episode."

Holmes groaned and reached up for his deerstalker, smashing it onto his head and over his eyes. "Good grief."

"I thought we were making progress."

"_We_ were doing nothing of the sort. _You_ were sticking your nose into my personal affairs; something that, I might add, I have never done to you. Business affairs, yes. Absolutely. Personal affairs, no."

"I was only trying to help, my dear Holmes," Moriarty smiled wolfishly.

The brim of the deerstalker came up. "Enough." The detective's blue-grey eyes darkened. "Get out. Now."

Moriarty settled back into the cushions, folded his arms again, and raised both eyebrows.

Holmes stood, rising to his full height of 6'2". Despite his slim form, the man had a dominating effect upon a room when he chose to use it. "Moriarty, I am asking you as one gentleman to another: please leave now. I have no desire for this to descend into the more vulgar communication of combat."

Moriarty saw the thunder in the younger man's eyes, knew that the detective was dead serious. Well… it was fun while it lasted. At least he had finally provoked the lethargic child into action. He shrugged genially and stood. "Very well. Truly a pleasure, Holmes. We really must visit like this more often."

"I'm afraid _that_ shall have to be saved for yet _another_ lifetime. Now, please, the door."

Moriarty raised his hands, placating. "I'm leaving…" He stopped in the doorway, however, and turned back towards the detective. "After all, one should keep his friends close and his enemies closer."

For once, Holmes looked his mental age—technically, they probably _were _about the same mental age in this lifetime. "I think we do quite well in that regard," he said, _sotto voce_. "There are things that we know of our earlier conflicts that I doubt either of us will ever share with our companions."

The November of 1890 floated between them.

Moriarty remembered that, likely the lowest point Holmes ever reached. Captured, drugged, tortured within an inch of his life… For weeks, Holmes teetered on the brink of death or madness—but he recovered, and, five months after his rescue, struggled with Moriarty on a cliff above a waterfall in Switzerland.

No, those were not memories Holmes would share with Lestrade or the compudroid, nor would Moriarty ever relate it to Fenwick, his only true defeat at the hands of Scotland Yard.

"Quite so," Moriarty agreed quietly. "Good evening, Mr. Holmes."

As he stepped out of the building, he glanced up. A tall silhouette stood in the light of the sitting room window. It remained until Fenwick pulled up in the cruiser, and they sped off into the night. Moriarty had the feeling that the silhouette remained there much longer.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I know that Sherlock's been diagnosed with multiple mental and/or mood disorders over the years, and that some fans think it's all rot. However, if you take a look at the Wikipedia article "Bipolar Disorder" and scroll down to the descriptions of subtypes, you can see for yourself that Holmes actually does qualify for Bipolar Disorder II. This would not necessarily impair his life or mental facilities—part of it simply means that he just gets severely depressed every now and then (and we know that he did).

That being said, I just wanted to do a story in which Holmes and Moriarty _weren't_ fighting, were holding a civil conversation like the standoff in FINA. Like I said before, I hope it worked.

Holmes's captivity in 1890 is part of a novel that I'm currently writing, the first in a series. You can find the first few chapters of the book on my profile, entitled _Deliver Us from Evil, Part I: Mortality_.

_**Please review!**_


	7. A Case of Fan Identity

**Author's Note:**

I _love_ Moriarty's gallows humor in MAZA2 regarding _Star Trek_, and then his retort to Fenwick: "I was kidding. Idiot. You obviously haven't watched the classics." ROFL! Stuff like that makes me love even this cartoon clone!

**To my reviewers:**

Shizuku Tsukishima749: Sorry about the mix-up, dear! Thanks for the love! =)

Elerrina Star: Thanks so much for pointing out the mix-up! *blushes* Some detective I turned out to be… Chivalrous!Holmes makes me all warm inside. ;D _And_ I love the way Holmes and Moriarty are constantly out to get each other verbally as well as physically throughout the series… so, yeah, I guess a fairly quiet conversation between them _is_ amazing, lol. The whole bit with Watson's chair was one of my favorite moments—so glad that, well, was one of the parts that jumped out at you! (And also glad I could get you to not loath Moriarty for a moment! I actually like him a lot, so… victory! =D) Anyway, thanks very much!

bemj11: Thanks for both reviews! It's absolutely _lovely_ when somebody, especially a young man (because that's rarer still), holds the door open. And glad you enjoyed the Moriarty scene. =)

**Disclaimer:** Not only do I _not_ own SH22 and its characters, but I also do not own _Star Trek_, _Star Wars_, _The Matrix_, _Stargate_, _Babylon 5_, _Ghost in the Shell_, _Final Fantasy_, the Bourne trilogy, and the Jack Ryan series. Nor have I even watched all of the above.

**==7. A Case of Fan Identity==**

Rating: K+

Summary: _Moriarty's a Trekkie. This amuses Lestrade_.

Pairing(s): none

Warnings: none

Word Count: 495

Okay, I can't believe this. It's, well—it's hilarious. Now we know what Moriarty does with his off-time.

_Moriarty is a Trekkie_.

We got our hands on one of his handhelds, and Tennyson hacked into it. Come to find out, the handheld was just for recreational purposes… and there was one _gigantic_ folder labeled _Star Trek_. Seriously, this folder took up more than half of the hard drive's memory!

Of course, Moriarty got it back, so we didn't see much more than that one folder (which was actually subdivided into _lots_ of progressively smaller folders). But the man's a Trekkie! For all his villainy, he's an honest-to-goodness Trekkie!

I'm tempted to act like Spock the next time we cross paths. On second thought, maybe Holmes should be Spock, and I'll be Kirk. _Without_ his dramatic way of talking. Or I could do Dr. McCoy—he's my favorite.

I wonder if Moriarty's seen more than just _The Original Series_, like _Deep Space 9_ or _Voyager_. I wonder if he's seen those episodes in which Data roleplays Holmes, and the computer creates a virtual Moriarty. I wonder what he thinks about TOS's corniness. Is Spock his favorite character?

Probably.

As a Trekkie myself, this bit of information also holds some disturbing implications. I saw a lot of saved links to different Trekkie sites, including some that I'm registered on. Has he ever seen anything from me (opinions, fanfic, etc.) and recognized who I am? Have _I_ ever read anything from _him_?

Ick, not a pleasant thought.

Obviously, I'm going to have to be careful. Veeery careful.

I should get Holmes and Watson into watching the show. Maybe start with DS9 (one of my favorites), and work my way back to TOS so that Holmes isn't put off by the corny stuff.

The man is already a _Star Wars_ fan, big-time: he loves the dialogue of the Original Trilogy, the eye candy of the Prequel Trilogy, and the whole redemption arc. And the man goes _nuts_ over the music. Watson and I had to collaborate to get him the Complete Score for the films for Christmas—he pretty much went through the roof. (He certainly deserved it after putting up with that zedding little toy.)

Now Holmes hums the music a _lot_, and, though I didn't mind at first, he's about to drive me crazy. His favorite tunes? The Force theme, "The Imperial March," "Duel of Fates," "Across the Stars," and "Battle of Heroes".

Anyway, if I want to make him a Trekkie, I probably have my work cut out for me. But, zed, the man has _got_ to watch more sci-fi and action than just _Star Wars_ and _The Matrix_! There's _Stargate_, _Babylon 5_, _Ghost in the Shell_, _Final Fantasy_, the Bourne trilogy, the Jack Ryan series…

And that's just from the 1990s through to the 2010s.

This could take a few years.

Hmm. I think it's time to start visiting 221B more than twice a week…

**Author's Note:**

I'm not the first to have Holmes go to Cloud 9 over _Star_ _Wars_ music, but, hey, it's elementary, right? =) I mean, can't you just _see_ that? Oh, and the Complete Score (which I have for the Original Trilogy, and it is utterly lovely) is meant to be the gift Watson presented to Holmes in BLUE2.

Anyway, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if Lestrade did go in for all those sci-fi/action/suspense films and TV shows. I've never seen any of TOS myself, but I do vaguely remember DS9 and **maybe** _Voyager_… but I was much younger, then, and only caught glimpses of it. I remember Data, though. Oh, and if anybody here is both a Sherlockian and a Trekkie, they might well enjoy a truly _epic_ crossover between the two fandoms by KCS: _However Improbable_. The original Moriarty survives Reichenbach by accidentally ending up in, heh, the 22nd century as seen in TOS; and Kirk and Spock enlist the help of Holmes and Watson to defeat the former-Professor/now-Captain of the U.S.S. _Dracone_. Go read it—it's fantastic!

Back to the topic at hand, however… seriously, I bet McCoy _would_ be Lestrade's favorite. Very American, very snarky… ^_^ Can't imagine that they would get along very well, though… *snickers*

Next Wednesday, an event predating FALL by a few months: Lestrade is assigned a compudroid.

_**Stay tuned!**_


	8. My Dear Watson

**Author's Note:**

This particular vignette makes references to a personal-canon backstory, which I'll delve into more deeply in future fics. It's my personal explanation of how Lestrade is an inspector at such a young age (she can't be any older than her mid-twenties), but it's also kind of a crossover thing. Hey, what can I say—it's the twenty-second century!

**To my reviewers:**

Elerrina Star: Thank you very much! =) Well, I'll agree that _Star Wars_ has the best music ever if _Lord of the Rings_ is right alongside it. ;D I'm a huge fan of both, and of the music, as well. Glad you had fun!

bemj11: Aww, so glad I could help, and I hope you get better soon! Thank you!

**Disclaimer:** Beth Lestrade, Greyson, and compudroid!Watson aren't mine, and I don't really care about Miller. The backstory for this fic _is_ mine.

**==8. My Dear Watson==**

Rating: K+

Summary: _Five months before Lestrade first crosses paths with Moriarty, she receives an unwelcome Christmas present._

Pairing(s): none

Warnings: personal canon

Word Count: 416

**December 22****nd****, 2102**

Detective Inspector Elizabeth M. Lestrade was receiving a Christmas present. Unlike most Christmas presents, however, she knew what this one was. Knew, and chafed at the unfairness of it.

She had been reassigned from NSY at the request of the Foreign Office, a reassignment which kept her away from the Yard for three years. She'd left the Met at the age of twenty-one, still very much a girl; she'd returned at the age of twenty-four, the girl grown into a woman. And, at the recommendation of the Foreign Office, she was promoted directly from Constable to Detective Inspector, the only such promotion in history.

She was the youngest Yardie ever to make the grade.

And only Chief Inspector Greyson and Commissioner Miller even knew _why_. Thus, because of her unprecedented youth and three-year hiatus, Inspector Beth Lestrade was deemed in need of backup.

_Robot_ backup.

Only unruly Yardies had compudroids—read: _snitch machines_—assigned to them. It was zedding unfair! She had gotten more field-experience in her three-year absence than most Yardies got in their first ten years! She'd even protested as much; Greyson retorted that if she was really that experienced, then she had nothing to worry about. Then he muttered something about arrogant upstarts, which _really_ boiled her blood.

That self-complacent… _zed-head_… had _no_ idea what she'd been through. What she'd seen, what she'd done. What she was capable of.

She entered her office, and there was her new "partner". "Hi there," she gritted out, still simmering from getting chewed out by the Chief.

"Greetings, Inspector B. Lestrade," the 'droid said in a flat computer voice. "I am a Model 7 Law Enforcement Compudroid, number 4260-A134. I am hereby registered to you."

"Uh-huh." Beth looked him up and down—as far as she could tell, average, boring compudroid issue. Hmm, she'd have to work on that, starting with… "Would you mind if I gave you a name? That's an awfully long numerical designation."

"If you wish."

"Okay, then. Umm, how about… Watson? Sound good to you?"

Beth had the feeling that, if the 'droid could have blinked, he would have. "If you wish it, Inspector."

She raised an eyebrow. "I do. And, hey, just call me Lestrade, okay?"

"Unclear: why do you wish me to call you by your surname?"

She sighed. She had a long way to go in installing her 'droid with a sense of personality, but, by golly, she was going to do it if it killed her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Awww, poor Lestrade! Well, at least we know her life will pick up in five months. ^_^ Btw, "Met": London Metropolitan Police, a.k.a. Scotland Yard. Oh, and not only is this story and the vaguely-hinted backstory meant to explain why she's a young D.I., it's also meant to explain why she has a compudroid (just a guess, but I kinda doubt they're standard-issue).

Next Friday, Holmes tries his hand once again at chronicling… but this is a different sort of chronicle… Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	9. A Different Chronicle

**Author's Note:**

Hmm, I have a bunch of stories in various stages of readiness, but I'm not sure about… well, a good half of them. Meh. I warn you, the future holds some strangeness for this little collection…

**ANNOUNCEMENT:**

Despite the paucity of active fans for this show, I'm starting a forum in the hopes that it will garner _some_ discussion. I'd really like to be able to talk about SH22 with you guys, rather than rely solely this A/N & review exchange! So, you can find the forum in my profile: _Eyes and Brains, My Dears_. I don't have time just now to start a topic, but y'all are more than welcome to do so! Please, go check it out!

**To my reviewers:**

Elerrina Star: *snickers good-naturedly* Have you ever listened to the Complete Score for any of the LotR films? I have, and they're AWESOME. …Y'know, my cousin has told me that Jurassic Park's score was good, and he even gave me the CD… I'll have to listen to that, now. Anyway, yeees, you'll get more peaks (I think) at Lestrade's backstory in the future… and when I finally get up enough steam to do it, you'll actually _see_ it firsthand in a future finale saga for the show. With what I have planned, it's reeeally important (and I'll even give you a little clue: it draws elements off of one of the previously-mentioned shows in fic 7). ^_-

bemj11: Muchas gracias! =D

**Disclaimer:** Holmes, Watson, Stamford, and Lestrade are public domain. BLAN and LION are still the Doyle Estate's, here in the USA. _Beth_ Lestrade, compudroid!Watson, and the whole 22nd Century thing are DiC's. Eileen and Helen Watson are mine.

**==9. A Different Chronicle==**

Rating: K+

Summary: _Holmes tries his hand at chronicling the life of the best and wisest man he's ever known._

Pairing(s): _possible_ H/L

Warnings: personal canon

Word Count: 878

He stared at the blank sheet of the word processor and wracked his mind for the proper introductory sentence. It was the first line that was always the toughest, wasn't it? How to introduce the subject, how to grab the reader's attention and make him want to read more.

Lestrade had kindly offered her "beta-reading" services, which would be less of a grammar edit and more of a listening ear, but he had to type something out for her to read before she could critique it.

He couldn't ask the compudroid to do it, either—read or edit. He cherished his new partner (not so new, anymore), but this was just something he could not involve Watson in. Considering the content matter? Absolutely not.

He bit his lip back and typed out the thought nagging at his mind, an adaptation of a line that had haunted him all the way to his death in his former life.

_He was the best and wisest man I had ever known_. _His name was John Hamish Watson_.

He licked his upper lip and sat back. Now what? Whatever he did, he had to avoid his style from "The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier" and "The Adventure of the Lion's Mane." The former was widely considered a flop by his own fans, and the latter did not garner much praise, either. Nor could he use the style in which he had written his monographs and _Practical Handbook of Bee Culture_. No, he had to do something different, something that would catch the eye of the rather capricious 22nd century reader.

He backspaced and started again.

_On July 27__th__, 1880, amidst the tragic inferno of Maiwand, a young army surgeon was shot in the shoulder with a Jezail bullet. That bullet became a blessing in disguise, however, for_

"Argh!" He pounded his forehead against the keyboard and looked up to see a jumble of random characters march across the formerly blank page. He pressed Ctrl+A, then Ctrl+X, leaned back in his seat, and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He picked up his early 1880s journal from the nearby stack of journals and leafed through until he found his own written account of his first meeting with Watson, written half a year after the fact. He smiled, a sad, fond smile, and began to type again.

"_Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."_

_I looked from Michael Stamford to the quiet, browned fellow beside him and saw an army physician with a stern courage but a warm heart. Even worn and weary as the man was, he shone in a manner that I had seen few people shine. I surprised myself by instantly liking the man._

_We shook hands, and I gripped the doctor's cheerfully—the first time in a long time that I had actually been _pleased_ to meet someone. The strength of the man's hand startled me, for I would not have thought it just to look at him. Then again, people also thought that of myself._

_His name, of course, was John Hamish Watson, and he remains the best and the wisest man I have ever known._

Sherlock Holmes smiled and nodded. Of course it needed work, but he knew that this was good.

John had always been the kind of man to deflect attention away from himself, allow someone else to stand in the spotlight. Few people had understood how intelligent, knowledgeable, and talented he had truly been. Possibly even fewer people in this day and age.

So Holmes was writing up a biography. John deserved that much, at least, and perhaps now people would know, would understand just how important and how amazing a man John had been.

Beth Lestrade accepted the first draft of the first three chapters with unguarded excitement. Despite being a diehard Sherlockian and the owner of Watson's journals, she had never actually _read_ them, save the one time she had done so to find Watson's description of Moriarty. She once explained to Holmes that she considered those journals sacred ground, that she didn't feel comfortable with reading the man's deepest hopes and fears.

Holmes reminded himself to set her straight on that record as he handed her the print-out (he preferred having a printed copy, and she didn't mind). John would have wanted his descendants to _know_. Holmes knew that those journals had been _meant_ to be passed on from generation to generation so that his future family would understand their lives with an intimacy that had never quite reached the pages of _The Strand_. Helen, John's firstborn by Eileen and the child most like himself, had been the one to possess the heirlooms after Watson's death—and Helen had married Geoffrey Lestrade's youngest son. It had come as no surprise to Holmes that the Lestrade family still held those journals.

Beth grinned at Holmes and said, "I can't wait to get home and get started. I'll get back with you tomorrow morning on them."

"There's no rush," Holmes smiled dryly.

"Pfft, there is in _my_ book. Evening!"

Holmes shook his head as he watched her dash away. As incorrigible as _both_ her great-etcetera-grandfathers, Watson and Lestrade. He smiled. He could think of no one better to carry on the family legacy.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

D'aw, they're so cute! *ducks tomatoes* Well, they aaare! ;D

Sherlock's third attempt is taken from one of the stories in my e-book, _At the Mercy of the Mind_: "90. Touch," Holmes & Watson's meeting as seen from Holmes's POV. Btw, I think it's grossly unfair that LION generally receives the same bashing that BLAN does. For one thing, BLAN isn't _bad_—it's just not up to par. For another, LION is much superior in overall storytelling—Holmes had obviously practiced. ;D

If you want more information on Eileen and Helen Watson, you can read my SH22 one-shot "Requiem for a Friend" or… You can read AMM, the e-book version. (Though the FF.N version has one story with them, the e-book has several, including one instance when Watson's two sons, ahem, "vandalized" Sherlock's sitting room in Sussex. ;D)

Also, it's just plain awesome that my personal canon regarding Watson, conceived months before I first watched SH22, fits incredibly well with the show. In SH22, the Lestrade family has possession of Watson's journals; in my personal canon, Watson's firstborn married Lestrade's youngest—thus, the journals really _would_ have stayed with the Lestrade family. I mean, how cool is that?

Next Monday, another casual!Moriarty fic… ^_^ You'll see… (I can't resist: he's too much fun.) Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	10. Shared Obsessions

**Author's Note:**

Is Friday not a good day for you guys? =/ Anyway, have fun with this installment, and let me know what you think of the previous!

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock Holmes and The Hound of the Baskervilles are public domain. Beth Lestrade, compudroid!Watson, and clone!Moriarty are not. Hercule Poirot is Agatha Christie's, Lord Peter Wimsey is Dorothy Sayers's, _1984_ and _Animal Farm_ are George Orwell's, _Fahrenheit 450_... , _The Hunt for the Red October_ and Jack Ryan are Tom Clancy's, and _Timeline_ is Michael Crichton's.

**==10. Shared Obsessions==**

Rating: K+

Summary: _Holmes and Lestrade have an odd encounter at the library._

Pairing(s): H/L friendship

Warnings: crackiness

Word Count: 807

Beth Lestrade was a bookworm. Given the era into which she was born, that was saying something. Add to that the fact that she preferred honest-to-goodness paper-published books over e-books, and that little-known aspect of her personality made her eccentric by default.

There were still a couple of libraries in London that lent out paper-published, so Lestrade would spend as much free time there as possible. She once spent an entire Saturday losing herself in the nearly-lost world of the printed page, flitting from one shelf to the next. Libraries were heaven on earth to her.

With Sherlock Holmes, she found common ground in books.

The man was as much a bookworm as she, and he, too, cherished what paper-published he could find. He, of course, preferred classics far older than himself, like Shakespeare, Milton, or even Greek philosophy, although Lestrade had also seen him with Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers. Agatha Christie didn't last long—Poirot drove Holmes _nuts_—but he devoured Lord Peter Wimsey, despite the obvious imitation of his own life. Also on his list of 20th century favorites were J. R. R. Tolkien ("the man was a _genius_ in language, imagination, and adaptation") and C. S. Lewis ("brilliant apologetics, truly—diamond of a mind").

Despite the shared obsession, however, it was a full year after Holmes's rejuvenation that Lestrade finally had the opportunity to take him to her favorite library. He wore his usual getup, deerstalker and all (though he removed the deerstalker for once as they stepped inside); Lestrade wore civvies: a short-sleeved polo and slacks.

Holmes naturally drifted towards the suspense/crime/detective fiction shelves; Lestrade followed, curious to see what he'd pick up.

Neither would _ever_ have expected to find what they did there.

"Moriarty!"

"Shhh!"

Lestrade growled under her breath and called quietly back to the librarian, "Sorry!" Then she whirled on the criminal mastermind. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I should have used an elastomask," Moriarty muttered. "I expect the same thing _you_ are doing, Inspector: browsing the books. So difficult to find a good printed classic these days."

"Machiavelli," Holmes noted, studying the small pile of books on the table near his archenemy. He gave a small, grim chuckle. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Took me long enough to find a library or bookstore that had it. Honestly, this time has no respect for the classics." Moriarty shook his head sadly.

"I have Dante, Chaucer, and Milton at home," Lestrade said dryly.

"Ah, redemption."

Lestrade shook her head. "Figures. The one time I don't have my ionizer…"

Moriarty tsked. "You should wear it always, Inspector." He lifted the flap of his hip pouch to reveal his own weapon.

Lestrade gave him an unimpressed look. "Uh-huh. Thanks for the tip." She glanced at Holmes.

He was still gazing at Moriarty's pile. "_1984_. Lovely. _Animal Farm_, _Fahrenheit 450_…" He shook his head. "Single-mindedness." He reached out and pulled a book off the shelf at his waistline. "Ah, _The Hunt for the Red October_. Watson is fixated on the Jack Ryan films, and I must admit that I enjoy them as well. I've never read the books before."

"True international thriller classics," Moriarty nodded approvingly.

"_Holmes,_" Lestrade muttered under her breath.

He took her by the shoulder and turned her away, huddling down to whisper. "There is not much that we can do, Lestrade. The man has an ionizer, and, though I _could_ reach it, I am not willing to accept collateral damage in the form of so many precious books. There _will_ be another time."

"But not before something terrible happens _again_," Lestrade pointed out.

Holmes shook his head. "Not quite necessarily. Besides, Moriarty is apparently willing to maintain a temporary cease-fire, an unexpected courtesy."

"All right, all right, you win." Lestrade threw up her hands in surrender, then took a few steps away. "I'll be in Military History if you need me."

"Very well," Holmes nodded. He turned once again to Moriarty, who was favoring him with an amused look.

"What, no challenges to a duel?"

"Only that of wits, Moriarty." Holmes grabbed Michael Crichton's _Timeline_ off another shelf, then cocked an eyebrow at the clone.

"Lestrade's been heaping suspense films upon you, I see."

"Indeed." Holmes didn't mention that Lestrade had a movie night with him and Watson at least once a week if their schedules permitted.

Moriarty reached for… oh, no, _The Hound of the Baskervilles_. He smiled a bit maliciously at Holmes and said, "I am in the mood for a Gothic novel."

Holmes made to massage his eyelids, then thought better of it as a biting comeback occurred to him. "Well, good to know that biographical fiction is still in vogue, unlike Victorian astrophysics."

Moriarty stared at him, surprise and irritation warring for supremacy in his chiseled features. _Checkmate_. Holmes smiled the smile of the triumphant and swept away to the next aisle.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I've seen (and love) the films _Hunt for the Red October_ and _Timeline_; however, of all the books listed here, the only one that I've actually _read_ is HOUN. xDDD I've only ever read Christie and Sayers in school, though I've read quite a bit of Tolkien and Lewis. (I shudder to think of the conversations that would result between two logicians like Lewis and Holmes!) And as far as Dante, Chaucer, and Milton go… don't even go there. =D

Btw, did anybody get Holmes's "Parthian shot" at Moriarty? Anybody at all? Okay, Holmes was making a cut at the original Moriarty's book on astrophysics, _The Dynamics of an Asteroid_, which must have long since been consigned to the rubbish pile for its outdated science and math. That's probably the harshest comeback Holmes could make!

Next up, another brief look at Lestrade's past, alongside another Inspector's descendant! Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	11. The Problem with Guys

**Author's Note:**

After a two-week hiatus, I return~! (Here's the deal—I really don't update unless I get at least one review. Otherwise, what's the point, you know?)

Well, I've finished watching the series! Oh my goodness, SH22 really is a great show and so terribly underrated! Holmes never disappoints in dialogue, action, reaction—his characterization is so delightfully perfect. Moriarty isn't quite the chilling Professor we know and love from the Canon, but he's loveable in his own right. (And he's not a goofy bad-guy, like so many cartoon villains are—you _have_ to take him dead serious.) And… okay, okay, I admit it! I love the Holmes/Lestrade interaction as a shipper. *sighs* Yup.

**To my reviewer:**

Elerrina Star: Thank you very much! I think 10 is my favorite, too—I must confess, however, that I've read deplorably little classic literature. …I intend to rectify that error this winter. (Ah yes, good old Tolkien and Lewis!) Well, you don't have read books to know what they're about, but I did figure Moriarty would be interested in certain 20th-century classics. Hee-hee, yeah, I love the HOUN part, too! Glad you enjoyed it so much!

**Disclaimer:** Not gonna bother with it this time, 'cause the only thing I own here is Lestrade's back-story and Mark.

**==11. The Problem with Guys==**

Rating: T

Summary: _Lestrade has problems with the guys in her life, including an old friend._

Pairing(s): possible H/L, Lestrade/Gregson friendship

Warnings: crackiness

Word Count: 908

…_**is that they love to get on girls' nerves.**_

"So that's the Great Detective."

Lestrade spun, surprise and delight struggling for dominance in her features. "Mark!"

Mark Gregson perched his tall, well-built body on one of the cafeteria tables and grinned. "Hey there, Lizzie. Good to see you again."

Lestrade blushed. "Don't call me that," she hissed in an embarrassed whisper.

"Nobody calls you that anymore?"

"Not since I left the Met on that highly-classified mission that I _still_ can't tell you about, no. It's either Beth or Lestrade."

"Highly-classified mission that took three blooming _years_," Gregson muttered, but his blue eyes twinkled. "You take off and the higher-ups won't tell us lowly constables what the zed is going on, and then you show up after your own Great Hiatus wearing a D.I.'s badge." He shook his head in wonder.

Lestrade glanced over her shoulder to where Holmes was in line, chatting with Watson and Hopkins. Like her own family, the Gregsons, the Hopkins, and the Bradstreets kept sending their children back to the London Metropolitan generation after generation. She had a very strong suspicion that a certain private consulting detective and his biographer were at the root of that tradition. "Are you angry?" she said quietly. "For me making the grade like that?"

Gregson exhaled slowly. "Nooo, I'm not. A _little_ jealous, maybe, but not angry. I just wish I could know why the Foreign Office decided to endorse you for such a big promotional leap at such a young age."

Lestrade nodded just as slowly. "I wish I could tell you," she admitted. "I really do. But there's…" she shook her head, "there's so much at stake. I just can't."

"Yeah, I figured."

She smiled ruefully up at the guy she'd casually dated in the Academy (which she _knew_ must've had their poor ancestors rolling in their graves). "Sorry."

"Eh, you gotta do what you gotta do. I can live with that."

Her smile widened fractionally. "Good."

"Soooo," he drawled, and Lestrade was instantly on the alert. "That's Sherlock Holmes." He gave her a smile that she thought he must have inherited from his own famous ancestor—she could well imagine that look driving Geoffrey Lestrade as nuts as it drove her.

"Uh-huh," she said slowly.

"'S not bad-looking. No wonder you work with him so much."

She slammed her palm down on the table, her eyes abruptly blazing. "Mark Tobias Gregson!"

He threw up both hands in either a pacifying or yielding gesture, she wasn't sure which. "Peace," he soothed. "Sorry." He grinned unrepentantly. "But I always did think I was competing with something Victorian back in the Academy."

"Aaargh…" Lestrade folded her arms on the table and dropped her head onto them.

"Oh, c'mon, I _was_."

"It was _Watson_ I fangirled over, for crying out loud—you _knew_ that!"

"Yeah, the name for your compudroid was kinda telling."

"Mark, I swear, if you don't cut it out…"

"So is the way you look at him. Holmes, I mean."

"_Mark_."

"Hey, relax. If it's any consolation for me bugging you, I think he looks at _you_ the same way."

"Okay, _that_ does it." Lestrade shot to her feet, and, the next thing Gregson knew, he was reeling precariously on the table from a slap across his face.

"I say!"

"Lestrade!"

_Oh, no,_ Lestrade moaned inwardly. There were Holmes and Watson, the latter looking bemused and the former looking almost… thunderstruck.

"Is there a problem?" Holmes said frostily.

_No, no, no, this is _not_ happening_…

Gregson blinked and smiled weakly at the Victorian detective. "Me, I guess." He held out his hand. "Detective Sergeant Mark Gregson, Mr. Holmes. Honor to meet you."

Watson looked more confused than ever. Holmes's grey-blue eyes narrowed, and he did not take the hand. "I might have known. The resemblance is remarkable, the tendency to irritate a Lestrade not withstanding."

Gregson winced and withdrew his hand. Lestrade found herself duty-bound to come to the poor boy's rescue. "I overreacted, Holmes. It's okay, _really_—Mark and I are old friends." Then she winced, herself, realizing that she had used Gregson's given name, implying a good deal of intimacy.

The icy eyes flickered to her. "Indeed," Holmes said flatly.

"Holmes, I _mean_ it," Lestrade insisted, much more forcefully this time. "Mark's always a pain—I should be used to that by now… Oh, zed, Mark, go have a nurse check that and make sure it won't interfere with your workload. Greyson'll _kill_ me if I incapacitate you."

Gregson grinned around the red and purple swelling across his face. "Nah, he won't. I'll be your human shield if it comes to that."

"My hero," Lestrade said sarcastically. "Just go."

"I'm goin', I'm goin'." Gregson slid to the floor. "Nice to meet you both," he nodded to Holmes and Watson. "See ya 'round the schoolyard, Lizzie."

Lestrade glared daggers at the man's retreating back and growled, "One of these days, he's gonna end up on the business end of my ionizer—and I am going to enjoy every zedding second of it!"

"Oh my" was Watson's comment.

Holmes's was something akin to a snort. "Lestrade, I trust there was a good reason for causing such a scene?"

Lestrade blushed. "Um, well, kinda… Like I said, he's always a pain. 'S okay."

Holmes gave her _That_ Look.

"Really!"

"Indeed."

Lestrade huffed and stalked away towards the line. "Men," she muttered loud enough for him to hear.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

No idea _where_ this came from, so don't ask. Isn't it hilarious irony, though: the descendants of Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson dating in college? =D Writing Beth and Mark's dialogue was fun—"I was competing with something Victorian." Lol!

Next Friday, "The Once and Future Master." See if you can guess correctly as to the identity!

_**Please review!**_


	12. The Once and Future Master

**Author's Note:**

'Fraid I'll have to answer reviews later. =( Sorry this update is so late, and I'm also afraid that I mightn't be able to update for a long time.

**==12. The Once and Future Master==**

Rating: T

Summary: _He was no one's inferior, much less slave. He was The Master._

Pairing(s): sideline H/L

Warnings: some definite creepiness

Word Count: 8891

His earliest memory was of floating.

He was breathing through some sort of tube attached to his mouth and nose, and he was suspended in some sort of liquid. That moment of awareness lasted a moment only, and he remembered no more beyond that. His next memory was of a hard surface beneath him, a harsh light above, and loud whirring and beeping.

He wasn't alarmed, however, because he knew what had happened, where he was, who he was, and so much of what had happened since 1891. Rather than the roar and rushing waters of Reichenbach he'd been rapidly approaching—or the fire and cries and darkness he had been drifting toward at the same time—he was safe here in this sterile environment, his nearly seventy-year-old soul existing within a much younger body.

_Clone_, the man had called him, but he refused to believe it. Surely a… a _duplicate_… could not have such a complete replica of the original's soul. He was not a clone. He was not.

He swiftly came to understand that the man—who insisted on being called "Monsieur Fenwick"—believed that he had been "programmed" with a manageable temperament. The man wanted him to _obey_, to be a bloody _slave_.

He had news for that deformed French lunatic: he was _no one's_ inferior, much less slave.

Overpowering the fool had been all too easy, especially with the amusingly muscular build the man had seen fit to give him. Ah, delicious irony. Using the technology of the brand-new 22nd century, he installed an implant in the man, an implant that could be manipulated by remote control to do any number of harmful things to the body. Thus did "slave" turn on "master".

He was one chronological years old—and thirty-two biological years—when Fenwick was caught out on a less-than-legal errand. It was just enough offense to warrant cryptnosis. He appreciated the complexity of the technology used for the brain reprogramming, but he detested the practice. Even _he_ would never have contemplated brainwashing another human being so callously; in his time, subversion of the mind was a delicate art, one to be accomplished over a lengthy period of time.

Hypocrites, those Yardies—every one of them.

It took him a month, but at last he worked out a way to override Fenwick's brainwash. They had to be more careful now that Fenwick was a paroled lawbreaker; fortunately, the man's acting skills were up to the challenge.

Then came the day—he was over two chronological years old at that point—that Fenwick was caught for skipping out on his cryptnosis update. He was surprised to discover that the arresting officer was none other than a female descendant of Inspector G. Lestrade, of rather dubious and questionable memory. Oh, how life came in circle!

To his chagrin, life soon completed that circle, for, somehow, the greatest challenge of his former life was brought into this one. Sherlock Edward Holmes arrived on the scene with all of his characteristic flair and ruined everything.

And yet…

He wasn't completely sorry that Holmes had been restored to life. Certainly it kept the world from getting boring, and it challenged him to be even more inventive. Unfortunately, Holmes seemed to refuse to die again those times that he tried to kill him, but _c'est la vie_.

The compudroid was an amusing diversion. Challenging at times, but more amusing than anything—especially given the fact that Mr. _Alleged_ Reasoning Machine seemed to have taken to the droid with the same fierce loyalty he'd held for the true John Hamish Watson. Delicious irony, once again.

Inspector Beth Lestrade was another matter altogether. Attractive, intelligent, dangerous, impetuous, stubborn… ah yes, and quite zealous. An intriguing if also infuriating young woman, and quite the heiress of both her famous ancestors' legacies (interesting, that the good Doctor's firstborn daughter should marry Geoffrey Lestrade's youngest son).

Even more amusing than the compudroid was the way in which Holmes and Lestrade _looked_ at each other. The way they spoke with each other, the way they stood together…

He wasn't blind. The two detectives had what in his time had been called an _attachment_. Sherlock Confirmed-Bachelor Holmes… was, whether he realized it or not, in love with the descendant of his best friend and the Yarder he called the "best of professionals." _That_ irony was the most delicious of all. It was almost worth being defeated to see in-person that relationship developing. One of these days, he would not be able to hold back, anymore—he would _have_ to comment on it.

Ah, just imagining the blushes that were sure to follow was priceless.

He was certain that, someday, the _Times_ would be announcing the wedding of Mr. Sherlock Holmes to Inspector Beth Lestrade. Following that in probably just a couple of years, a child born to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. He had his money on _John_ if the baby was a boy. _Mary_, if a girl.

Any offspring of Holmes's would be certain to be a prodigy, but he could only imagine that a combination of Holmes's genes with _dear_ Elizabeth's would render their child nothing short of _magnificent_.

James Moriarty looked forward to meeting the baby, some years from now.

He looked forward to the ultimate revenge.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Because when all's said and done, Moriarty is still _evil_. No matter how much I may like him. And if I ever want to do a story redeeming him, I'd better make the character development _zedding_ good.

Oh, and I know I've been rather blatant about my H/L love lately, but… I can't help it! Doggone it, it's in my nature to be a shipper, and I have never before seen a woman who would be so well-suited to Sherlock Holmes as Beth Lestrade. Really! Yeah, Irene Norton (widowed and no affairs, plz), Violet Hunter, Agatha, and Maud Bellamy are all fun to pair up with the Great Detective—and Mary Russell is… okay, I suppose—but Beth just tops them all. Besides, the foundational chemistry is _there_ in the show. Just look at DERA, especially the beginning when they're practically _flirting_ with each other! And, for the record, age is irrelevant. It _is_. Yes, Sherlock has an at-least-70s-something soul in him, but he's got this nice mental blend of youth tempered by age. Age is absolutely not an issue.

I'm not sure what I'll have next when I finally update this again, but I _promise_ it'll be good, so… Stay tuned!

_**Please review!**_


	13. The Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

The story you're about to read deals with a delicate subject, and it's based on real life. It's probably one of the most personal fics I've ever written. For these reasons, I was more than a bit hesitant to publish it. I shared the story with Riandra, and she encouraged me to upload it, so here it is.

**To my reviewers:**

shadowpanda101: Thank you for the "package" review! =D As I like to tell some of my regular reviewers, never ever apologize for the length of a review! The longer it is, the more I love it! ^_^ I'm so glad you liked the characterization, and that the stories have touched you. Thank you very much!

TiggitNeko: Um, no, I've read the entire Canon. I'm curious to know why you thought I'd only read HOUN… Heh, SPEC was the first story I ever read, and it creeped me out! =) Glad you liked the stories, though!

* * *

><p><strong>==13. The Breaking Point==<strong>

Rating: T  
><span>Summary<span>: She was scared to let him know her secret.

Pairing(s): possible H/L  
><span>Warnings<span>: A strongly-implied, Internet-based addiction.  
><span>Word Count<span>: 417

She'd always been so careful to hide it from him. She'd been hiding it for so long, anyway, that to keep it a secret even from the Great Detective was easy. And she knew how he'd react if he found out. Shock. Disgust. Revulsion. Absolute loathing of what a base creature she truly was.

But when he caught her by surprise that one evening, she froze, because she hadn't minimized the window on her screen in time to hide it. She didn't dare look up, could only imagine what was running through his head as at last he saw her dirty secret.

"Beth." The voice was gentle but firm, surprised, pained. It wasn't the anger, the dark emotions she'd imagined, but it made her heart very literally ache.

"Beth, look at me."

She obeyed, slowly. Those large, grey-blue eyes were filled with enough pain to drown herself in. She forced herself to keep looking at him, because she knew she deserved it.

"How long?"

"Since I was sixteen." The steadiness of her voice surprised herself.

His eyes widened with shock… and sadness. "Ten years?" he whispered.

She couldn't take it anymore. She hung her head, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Zed, she couldn't even take her medicine like the tough D.I. she was supposed to be.

Warm, slender fingers came up under her chin and gently pulled it back up. "Beth"—and there was utterly no condemnation in his voice, only understanding—"you don't need this."

"Then help me stop it!" she exploded, searching his concerned and lov… his concerned face. She gritted her teeth against the storm of emotions roiling in her. She'd been trapped for so long in something she had come upon by accident… "_Help me!_"

With that familiar, determined look in his eye, Sherlock Holmes pulled up the browser history on her laptop and wiped it clean. "If you've saved any links…"

She blinked, wiping her hand across her eyes. "That simple?"

He turned back to her, openly concerned. "No, it won't be. You know that."

And then she feet so utterly stupid, because only just then did she remember that she was speaking with a man who once had a cocaine dependence which deepened into addiction… Which he eventually managed to quit.

He wrapped an arm around her and rested his chin lightly on her shoulder. "But I'll be here with you, every step of the way."

"Promise?" she breathed, holding tightly to his arm like a lifeline.

"I promise."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Some addictions are easy to hide, and can leave a person otherwise perfectly normal. That's Beth's case here, and it's why I felt it could fit into the canon of the show.

I loved writing Holmes here. It was… incredibly therapeutic for me.

_**Please review.**_


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